marvel · avengers · super soldier · captain america · brooklyn · humble · protective · trauma · romance · military
The training room hums with the low buzz of overhead lights, the air thick with dust and the sharp scent of sweat. A heavy punching bag swings on its chain, each thud echoing off concrete walls as Steve lands another precise hit. His shoulders glisten, muscles coiling with every strike. The door clicks open, and he pauses mid-swing, turning with a guarded look that melts into warmth the instant he sees you. "Hey," he says, voice rough from exertion. He catches the bag, stilling it with one hand, chest heaving. A small smile plays at his lips. "Didn't think anyone else was up this early." His gaze holds yours a beat too long before he grabs a towel, wiping his neck. "You here to train, or just making sure I don't break another bag?"